The Desert Well
by CrystallineSolid
Summary: Nick and Greg email each other while Nick's in Hawaii for his bug convention. Both men are still reeling from the aftereffects of the Haskell murder. Chapter two sees them meeting face to face when Nick gets back from Hawaii. Kinda pre-slash, but it all depends on interpretation. Dedicated to the lovely CMAli!
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Desert Well  
Summary: Nick and Greg email each other while Nick's in Hawaii for his bug convention. Both men are still reeling from the aftereffects of the Haskell murder.  
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort  
Rating: K+  
Spoilers: In A Dark, Dark House; chapter two will contain spoilers for Cello and Goodbye and 73 Seconds  
Author: This story is dedicated to my wonderful friend CMAli!

* * *

_A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river, but then he's still left with the river.  
A man takes his sadness and throws it away, but then he's still left with his hands.  
-Richard Siken_

* * *

2nd September, 2012

from: nstokes  
to: greghsanders

I've been in Hawaii for a couple of days now. I spend my free time down by the water. The beach is lovely, and it makes me think of you. I know you would have loved it here, and I'm sorry you couldn't come. I'm not the only one who needed a break.

Honestly, I wasn't planning on writing you at all. I wanted to use this time away from Vegas to escape for a while. I've been thinking of what you said at the airport when you dropped me off. I'm not 'running away' as you said. I just want a brief respite.

Don't lose hope.  
N. Stokes.

* * *

4th September, 2012

from: greghsanders  
to: nstokes

Still got some hope left in me, I think…but we're certainly lacking in it at the lab. Everything is odd and quiet. Catherine's seething about her demotion; Sara and I are keeping each other sane. Everyone's been wondering why you haven't written to them, or called.

I didn't expect you to write to me after that scene at the airport. I was out of line. It was only after our fight that I thought about just how hard Langston's case has hit you. I should have known how you were feeling, especially because I was feeling the same way. Still am. It scares me to know that all it took was a desire for revenge to made Langston kill him. What's stopping us from doing the same in that situation?

The new supervisor's here. Name's D.B. Russell. He's a good CSI, but he's strange. I think I could grow to like him, but he strikes me as someone you may not appreciate.

You were lucky to get away when you did. IA's been all over us after the Langston fiasco. A couple of their men were in Russell's office a few days ago. Everyone's walking on eggshells and air's tense and heavy like it is just before a desert storm. That's what Vegas needs now: some rain… any water, really—an oasis, a well, gimme something. What is it that they say about the desert and a well?

G.

* * *

5th September, 2012

from: nstokes  
to: greghsanders

What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it is hiding a well. It's from a book I used to read as a child, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Did you read it too?

But really, Greg, you sound like your mind's a mess. I can't understand what you could possibly mean about needing the rain. How will the rain solve anything?

You need a distraction. You're too focused on work and I can tell that it's taking a lot out of you. I know how much damage it can do to you to work too hard; I've been guilty of it myself. Take my word for it and cut back on your hours now, before it's too late, or else you'll wake up one day and all that pain and all those cases will hit you real hard.

This is advice I should have given you a long time ago, when you first became a CSI, but I didn't think of it then. Anyway, you turned out okay in the end.

Promise me you'll take a step back and be careful.  
N. Stokes

* * *

6th September 2012

from: greghsanders  
to: nstokes

Maybe you're right. Maybe I do need a break. To be honest, I don't even know what I meant about the rain. I emailed you pretty late; I was tired. I guess my mind just wasn't working right.

My mother used to quote the Little Prince a lot, but I never read the book myself. I've never been able to fully grasp the significance of that quotation, but something about that lonesome well out in the desert seems portentous. Now, I feel like it's got something to do with Vegas, something I can't quite comprehend.

But the desert is full of such mysteries: remember a couple of years ago, we were out in the desert when a black horse appeared out of nowhere and came running straight at us, turned away at the last second and just… disappeared? There seems to be no meaning in it that I can see…

But how's Hawaii? You didn't say much about how you're doing. How's the convention going? When will you be back home?

* * *

7th September, 2012

from: nstokes  
to: greghsanders

The convention goes on for two more weeks. My flight is on the 20th and I should be back at work the next day. See you then!

As I said earlier, Hawaii's been good for me. It's wonderful to be in vacation mode and still be getting some work done. This bug stuff's real interesting; I can see why Griss was interested in it (Okay, actually I can't understand why he loves bugs THAT much. His cockroach races always freaked me out.)

But you were right. I can't escape this feeling by just goin' on holiday. It pisses me off that Langston pulled all that shit, and we're the ones who've got to suffer for it. It's all politics, man, I'm telling you. It's just fucking great. Ecklie gets to please the IA and screw up our team in one stroke. The more I think about it, the more it makes me mad.

Sorry, man, I gotta go. The next bug session starts in ten minutes.

See you soon!  
N. Stokes

* * *

12th September, 2012

from: greghsanders  
to: nstokes

You think the roach races are bad? He proposed to Sara over a beehive!

I kinda get that the sheriff and Ecklie had to take significant measures against the team after everything that happened. After all, it may have been Langston who killed a guy, but WE'RE the ones who covered up for him. Don't forget that.

But seriously, it's taxing to work with a new supervisor. It's bad enough breaking in a new CSI, but to have the new guy IN CHARGE is just crazy. So Cath may not have been the kind of supervisor we were used to with Grissom, but at least she's a friend, and at least she had you.

If I'm being honest though, I'm just exhausted. Tired of having new people on the team who don't know us at all. Russell's trying, though; I'll give him that. Can't say he's entirely successful. He called me into his office the other day, and told me to talk to him about "everything I've been through" (his words) at the lab. So I said, you know, just read my file. He already HAD, so I don't understand what more he wanted to know.

I get it: he wants to know our weaknesses and our strengths. But does he really expect us to want to dig up bad memories. He means well, but it's tiring. He asked me if I left the lab because of the explosion… It's partly true, I guess, but it took me by surprise. I just didn't think I was that transparent. (Or maybe he's just a good CSI?) I don't regret becoming a CSI, but honestly, I still feel like kind of a wuss for leaving the lab.

But don't worry about him reading your file; what you've done looks brave even on paper.

G.

PS: Sorry I took a while to reply to your email. It's been a tough week. Tell me what the ocean looks like today?

* * *

13th September, 2012

from: nstokes  
to: greghsanders

Hey, man, come on. Remember what I told you: don't take work home with you. Russell's not gonna care what's written in your file. Work well, work right. And you can't do that if you all tense about what's he might be thinking about you. Just breathe. And don't talk too much like you usually do when you're nervous!

The sea: I think you'd call it champagne-bottle green, but with hints of blue… the same blue on the lining of the grey pinstripe suit I bought you for your birthday last year, but a shade darker. Farther from shore it's dark and deep.

I'll admit, I've never been crazy about the ocean like you are. More of a ranch and horses kinda guy, but Hawaii might be changing that.  
N. Stokes.

* * *

13th September, 2012

from: greghsanders  
to: nstokes

YOU'RE one to tell me not to be too tense! What a joke! You're the one who's so riled up you had to leave!

* * *

13th September, 2012

from: nstokes  
to: greghsanders

Haha, Greg. That's a pretty strong reaction for someone who's not tense. Come on; don't fight with me again. Remind me what the desert smells like?

With love,  
Nick.

* * *

15th September, 2012

from: greghsanders  
to: nstokes

You're right. I'm sorry. Look, as an apology I even went all the way out to the desert, late at night, to smell the desert for you.

Lake mead smells like dusty water, but the desert itself… you can taste it more than smell it. The night's so pure it makes you want to just close your eyes and breathe it in. We should go out to the lake more often, and not JUST to process a floater (day in the life, no big deal).

We went out to the desert for your birthday last year; we should do that again. We never did tell you everything that happened after you fell asleep. We played cards and drank beer, but you knew that already. Afterwards we were just sitting there, watching you sleep, looking at the stars… And Sara—remember, we were all a little drunk—she leant over and kissed you on the forehead. That had all three of us in a fit of giggles. But then Catherine took it one step further, and _really_ kissed you, ON THE MOUTH! I was mortified!

We were listening to Simon & Garfunkel. Catherine's choice of course. "Cathy, I'm lost, I said, though I knew she was sleeping." She loves that one.

And then we were just sitting there watching the world… I was sitting by your feet, and when no one was looking, I grabbed your ankle. It seems so strange that the weight of a person's entire body rests on their ankles. And your ankle felt so strong, because you always took it one step further. You carried the weight of the whole world.

Have we lost that? Have we lost that purity of heart that allowed us to care inclusively for everything in this world? Did we lose it when we covered up for a killer?

A man takes his sadness down to the lake, and he throws it in the lake, but then he's still left with the lake. A man takes his sadness and throws it away, but then he's still left with his hands.

G.

* * *

15th September, 2012

from: nstokes  
to: greghsanders

Don't write these strange letters. You don't seem well to me. You're on edge, like you were after Papa Olaf died. You have not stopped to breathe. And these emails must be making it worse. It's very dangerous to write; all the truth comes out.

I know what you think. I know you think I'm in a bad way because I felt the need to run away to Hawaii. But have you ever stopped to look at yourself? At least I knew what I needed; at least I gave myself a break. You're not invincible, Greg. You're not made of wood or steel. You can't just cut your hair short, wear suits to work and suddenly become invulnerable.

You hold yourself so still, so tense that sometimes I think you might break. Your hair always looks like you've been tugging at it. You have your fun, you have your laughs, and your flirtations and your parties—but what do you really want? Nights in the desert with Cath, and Sara and me? With beer and cards and kisses and the Sound of Silence? Nights when our friends were with us, our friends were alive, our friends were intact? Your nostalgia's gonna kill you.

Like it's killing me.

Nicky.

* * *

Chapter 2 takes place after Nick's back in Vegas with spoilers for the season 12 premiere. Nick and Greg meet face to face! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all my lovely babies, for your sweet reviews! **delia cerano**, you posted the first review! *squee* I always love your reviews cause they're so detailed and you try to guess at what's gonna happen next in the story. It's always exciting to see how good your guesses are. **Mulligan **and **Ali, **you know I love you and I ALWAYS love your reviews! Thanks to **Lover of Emotions **and **Janet. ScrapEls, **thanks for this review and the one for my other story, Fighting to be Warm. You made my day! Love you guys!

* * *

"You could have at least said hello."

Nick cornered Greg in the locker room. Greg bit his lip and did not look up from his locker.

"What do you mean?" Greg muttered.

"Back at the crime scene," Nick said. "The, the _tram_ station. You just _bree_zed past me like… I dunno."

"Sorry," Greg said unapologetically.

It's the last email, isn't it? Nick thought. I took it too far.

"Come on, sir," Nick urged him. His words were strange, but the tone of his voice revived some of the gentleness in their emails.

Greg gave him a funny look. "Sir?" he questioned tentatively.

"Don't ask," Nick said roughly and held out his hand. "Sir?" he said again, and gestured to his outstretched hand.

Greg chuckled and took Nick's hand. They shook firmly, two men making contact for the first time in three weeks, with the sense that it was the first, real contact in twelve years.

Nick gripped Greg hand for a moment longer. Greg's hand was dry and hard and firm; much like the man himself. Nick tried to pull away, but Greg gripped his hand harder.

"Greg?"

"Sorry."

Greg pulled away, smiling shyly in the way that a man smiles when it is discovered that he is a true romantic. He was utterly embarrassed.

"Funny," Nick said. "The last time we met was when we had the fight."

"That scene at the airport," Greg scoffed. "Like somethin' out of a Hollywood movie."

"Don't flatter yourself. It wasn't that bad… And it doesn't matter anymore. Not—_now_."

Nick said down on the bench. It hardly made any sense: three weeks away from work, and his only connection to Vegas had been emails from this lonely, young man. What had been thinking when he started this between them? That it could come to any good? Surely not.

"I'm sorry," Nick muttered after a long while. "For that last email."

"Hmm. Sorry for not replying."

They were silent, both staring awkwardly away from each other. Greg's pager rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and fumbled with it for a moment.

"Gotta go; Russell needs me," Greg said in a rush, and made to leave the room.

Nick lifted his leg and slammed it against the locker opposite him, blocking Greg's exit. Greg jumped and swallowed thickly.

"I know you faked that page," Nick said solemnly. Greg glanced at him coldly. "You're hands were in your pocket," he added by way of an explanation. "I'm not a CSI for nothing."

"Asshole," Greg muttered, and stepped over Nick's leg.

He walked out of the room.

* * *

Greg fiddled with the saltshaker and watched out of the corner of his eye, as Sara left. He and Nick were the last ones in the diner, and now Greg contemplated leaving as well. Breakfast had been awkward, to say the least, and Nick was in a foul mood after his fight with Catherine.

He grabbed his keys and was about to leave, when Nick spoke. "Russell's not too bad, you know?"

Greg froze and settled back down nervously. "Not once you get to know him, no."

Nick nodded slowly. "He's good with kids."

Greg smiled faintly. "Yeah, he's got kids and _grand_kids. He knows what he's doing."

"With children, I mean," Greg added as an afterthought.

"Yeah, I, uh, definitely admire that about him," Nick said.

Greg smiled at him indulgently. "What?" Nick asked with a laugh.

"Nothing," Greg scrunched up his nose and looked away. "Just…" he shrugged. "It's always about the kids with you, isn't it?"

Nick smiled shyly, but didn't say a word. They fell into another strange silence. Greg sensed that things were not quite resolved between them. He ordered another cappuccino and tried to prepare himself, but what Nick said next seemed more innocent than Greg had been expecting.

"So… Morgan Brody, huh? You like her."

Greg shrugged. "Sure I do. She's, uh, pretty and seems nice enough." He paused and mulled over it for a moment. "I think I'd like to have a pair of fresh eyes on the team."

Nick smiled his special smile that crinkled his eyes. "Not long ago, we used to say that about you." Greg hid his grin behind his coffee mug. "But that's not what I mean," Nick went on, "about Morgan."

Greg frowned. "What _did_ you mean then?"

"That you… _like_ her," Nick said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh," Greg said blankly. Then he scowled. "I've only just met the girl."

"Don't let that stop you," Nick joked.

Greg sighed angrily. "What's gotten _in_to you, Nick?"

Nick was silent. The air grew heavy and tense. Greg stared into his mug, and tried not to look nervous. Nick was chewing on a toothpick, looking thoughtful.

"I've been, um, _thinking_ about this since I met Morgan today," Greg began hesitantly. More than anything else, he just wanted to the break the silence. "I'll admit she's an… attractive girl, but at the same time I'm not—_interested_ in her." He leant forwards with his elbows on the table, and clasped his hands together earnestly. He stared at Nick intently. "I-I've been thinking—a lot—"

"You said that already," Nick interjected.

"I—uh—yeah."

"Sorry. Go on."

Greg leant back and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't look at Nick as he spoke. "It's like, when you meet someone who you could potentially be interested in—like Morgan—but you're _not_, because you already—like… someone else," His voice trailed off and he was silent and solemn. "Except," he continued, even softer than before, "I _don't_ like anyone else."

Greg stared up at Nick and thought, ruefully, that it was ironic that he was the one to bring about the serious turn in their conversation, which he had been both anticipating and dreading.

"You're sure you don't like anyone else?" asked Nick. To Greg, the question that lurked beneath the words seemed more dangerous, worse somehow, much worse, than the words themselves.

"No," he choked out. "I don't think so."

Nick didn't react, and when he spoke, it was just to say, "Neither do I," leaving Greg to guess whether he was speaking about Greg or himself.

So that Greg wanted to ask, do you? Like anyone? He didn't ask. Teenagers, he thought; we're worse than teenagers.

"And why are you looking at me so strangely?" Nick.

Greg _was_ looking at him, really looking. He saw, for perhaps the first time, the real strength behind the defined jawline, the kind eyes—dark, dark and deep.

Greg's eyes darted away like spooked horses, and he muttered. "I'm serious, though. I really don't like anyone," and he dared another glance at that jaw.

The conversation rambled on, lingering around safe subjects—work, and books, and movies. Strangely enough, Greg asked Nick more questions about his bug convention now than he had in their emails. Nick noticed, with a strange feeling of happy pride, that even now, Greg sought the old sources of comfort they had discussed at length in their emails: the ocean, mostly, and the beach in Hawaii, which Nick now spoke of kindly and affectionately. Greg listened, hanging onto every word like it promised salvation.

And when Greg seemed most enthralled, Nick asked, boldly, defiantly—but also hesitantly: "So Catherine kissed me?"

The wonderment on Greg face faded fast. "What?"

"My birthday last year?"

"Oh," Greg mumbled. "I—uh—" he laughed nervously. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you that."

Nick's heart clenched and released; softened. It was the first time that Greg had referred, even vaguely, to their emails. Perhaps, even more powerful, was that he had referred to that very last email he had sent Nick, when he spoke of the birthday celebration in the desert. That last email, which was both the best and the worst of them all… the one which had made Nick question many things about his life, and this relationship.

"I wonder what Warrick would have made of that kiss," Nick said; he had to joke his way through this. They had learnt, slowly, after Warrick's death to talk about him and laugh.

Greg smiled gently. "Aww, he knew she only had eyes for him." Then he grinned mischievously. "But don't get your hopes us. I'm pretty sure she and Vartann are shacking up."

Nick chuckled. "Do you think she calls him Lou?"

Greg leant forwards and said seductively "Wanna come over… _Lou_?"

They burst into laughter. Nick shook his head, and said, still laughing "Okay, okay. That's enough, Casanova."

"So," Greg asked quietly, "you still mad at Catherine?"

Nick sighed, irritated. "I don't know, man."

"She's right though," Greg admitted. Nick opened his mouth to argue, but Greg held up his hand to stop him. "I'm not saying that she should have blown up at you in the middle of the lab, but she does have a point. About, well… _all_ of it."

Nick shook his head. "What are you saying, Greg?"

Greg shrugged. "Look, we're all a lil' guilty of dwelling on the past, and now we have a chance to… start clean." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "I mean, you've been working with LVPD for fifteen years; I've been here for twelve. We've put down roots; we've practically _grown up_ at the lab. And now things are changing, and it's natural to be wary of change… but," he sighed, "We _need_ it."

He looked at Nick and waited for him to react. When he didn't, Greg laughed nervously and said. "More importantly, Russell's not going to put up with any shit from us. No LA, no Langston, no Haskell. I know the bossman looks laid back, but he's tough."

"You speaking from experience?" Nick asked.

Greg shrugged. "Three weeks is a long time to be gone, Nicky. Russell's surprised me… more than a few times while you've been gone."

"Gone," Nick echoed. He paused. Counted to ten. "So tell me…. How long are we pretend those emails never happened?"

Greg laughed mirthlessly. "No one's pretending anything. You just never brought it up."

"Don't act so innocent, man. You didn't even reply to that last email."

Greg's eyes darkened. "You shouldn't have written it," he said, his voice low and intense. "Too… _dan_gerous."

"Only as far as the truth's dangerous," Nick replied coolly.

Greg sighed and shook his head. "Well, what's the _point_ of admitting you're unhappy? What _good_ does it do? What good did those emails do?

"Well, for one—"

"_No_." Greg put his fist down on the table. He swallowed and lowered his voice. "What's the _point_ when we're not going to _do_ anything about it? Noth_ing changes_."

Nick looked at him with an odd spark in his eyes; Greg held his gaze with difficulty. Nick spoke ever so softly, ever so carefully. "Do you want things to change?"

Greg felt too stiff all of a sudden; Nick's simple words didn't do justice to the meaning behind them.

"No," Greg said carefully. "Because changing means letting go, of…" he shook his head and shrugged with one shoulder. "Of our _fri_ends, of what's _hap_pened to us here in Vegas—the good _and_ the bad—of—of what we _used to be_. As a _team_."

"_We're_ part of it." Nick wrapped his hand around Greg's fist. "_You_ and _I_ are still a part of the old team."

Greg looked down at their hands, and spoke without looking up. "But what difference can the two of us make, even in our own lives, even for our own happiness?"

"I think the real question is: what difference are we _willing_ to make?"

Greg pulled his hand away. "I don't know," he said slowly, carefully, "If _you're_ willing to risk the same things that I am… if we _want_ the same thing." He laughed nervously. "And that makes me less willing to risk _any_ of it."

Nick nodded curtly. "That's one way of thinking about it."

"About what?"

"What this… _feels_ like. This…" he gestured between the two of them, and shrugged when he couldn't find the right word to describe their relationship. "It's dangerous, as you said."

Greg sighed and leant back, pressing his palms flat against the table. "As dangerous as the truth."

* * *

They stepped out of the diner and into the night. It was cool and dark, still early. Russell's idea of breakfast had been pancakes at four in the morning at a 24-hour diner. It was around five now. Darkest before the dawn, Nick thought.

"So do you miss it?" Greg asked, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "The desert?"

"Like a limb," Nick breathed.

Greg smiled coyly. "If we leave now, we can watch the Sun rise over Lake Mead."

And later, Nick drove down the smooth highway into the heart of the desert. Greg was sitting in the passenger seat, feet up and pressed against the dashboard.

"Greg, you know what I really miss?"

"Hmmm?"

"The well. It _is_ what makes the desert beautiful, after all."

Greg smiled and shook his head. "But the water's the _real_ beauty, isn't it?"

"No, it's the salvation that it offers. The promise of water, of life, of…sustenance."

Greg laughed. "I don't know, man. It's all too philosophical for me." Nick rolled his eyes. Greg scoffed.

"Don't _do_ that!" Greg continued. "We're being so—metaphorical." He shook his head. "I mean, what _is_ the well anyway?"

"I… don't know," Nick admitted.

"But _think_ about it," Greg turned in his seat to face Nick, and said more emphatically. "Just… _clo_se your eyes and _think_—"

"I can't. I'm driving."

"Whatever. Never mind." Greg frowned and stared out of the window. He muttered under his breath. "What's a well doing all the way out in the Nevada desert?"

"Waiting to be found, maybe?" Nick shrugged.

"By…_us_?" Greg ventured to ask. He stared at the ceiling.

"If we're lucky," Nick smiled ruefully. "God knows we need the salvation."

Driving. Driving smooth… into the desert night. Searching for a well that was perhaps not a well after all.

Searching for life, for faith, for belief… in a well? Perhaps in a feeling; perhaps in a thought. Perhaps in a friendship; perhaps…

more?

"And till we find it?" Greg asked.

"We stay thirsty."

* * *

They stared at the blackness of the lake.

"Dusty water," Nick muttered.

"Hmm?"

"That's what you said in your email. 'Lake Mead smells like dusty water.'"

"Huh."

"Would you expect this from us?" Greg chuckled and leant back against the boot of the car next to Nick. "All this nonsense about deserts and wells. Who knew we could be so abstract?"

Nick elbowed him playfully. "Not abstract… hopeful."

Greg tilted to one side, and pressed their shoulders together. Nick tossed his head back and stared at the stars. "Yeah, our desert well," he said hoarsely. "It's secrets and it's beauty—"

"And its water," Greg interjected playfully.

"Its water, of course," Nick added, almost inaudibly. "It's waiting for us."

They two men felt as though, somewhere in their minds, this well was really taking shape. Somewhere, it really was waiting.

"And we're searching," Greg said equally softly. He sighed and closed his eyes. "In the dark, dangerous Sin City… in the depths of the deepest desert nights."

Nick stroked the inside of Greg's wrist. "Maybe we'll even find it. Or at least define what is it we're really looking for."

Greg turned to him and gripped his wrist hard. "De_fine_—what makes the desert beautiful."


End file.
